


it's all good now.

by wildwildhq



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage Proposal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suffering, Therapy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, au where gay marriage is legal in japan, because yes :D
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwildhq/pseuds/wildwildhq
Summary: A freak accident has Daichi and Koushi's world slipping off its axis and descending into insanity, where all they do is fight each other and themselves. Together, they fall apart, get back on their feet, and slowly set their life upright again.
Relationships: Karasuno Volleyball Club & Karasuno Volleyball Club, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shirabu Kenijrou & Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	it's all good now.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seungminis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seungminis/gifts).



> hellO! welcome to YET ANOTHER one of my long, angsty oneshots! i hope you enjoy this fic, and comments and kudos are always appreciated! lmk what you guys think :D  
> contains a few depictions of anxiety attacks and one gory scene, click off if you ever feel uncomfy!! totally understand mwah mwah  
> this is canon divergent!! and daisuga are married have a daughter :D
> 
> [fic playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4j8vDxk4SVQXqvNd3FxcHa)
> 
> \+ ty honey and paulina for beta-ing some bits! this wouldn't have turned out this well without you both <3

Koushi takes another look at their adopted child, who stares back up at him with eyes like pools of molten chocolate. The girl lets out a mindless warble, snickering delightfully as she nuzzles into her father’s chest.

Koushi cradles her head as he holds her close, swaying as he presses his lips to the small, fine strands of hair on the top of her head. He tightens his grip, supporting her neck as he begins to hum an old song from when he first met his now-husband.

Daichi hasn’t responded to his texts in over 4 days. Koushi has been sick with worry, and the only thing that’s keeping him from driving all across Japan by himself is Etsuyo.

“Tou-san’ll make it home,” he whispers, playing with Etsuyo’s nose. Like always, he adds, “right, Etsuyo-chan?”

And, like always, Etsuyo will babble with a smile, scrunching her nose.

“7 x 6 + 7 x 5 is,” Koushi surveys the classroom with a bright smile and bags under his eyes. Over a week since Daichi had any form of contact with him. Etsuyo’s in daycare. The potted plant in the corner now has a bright pink leaf. He’ll have to have a talk about painting plant leaves after school. He takes a deep breath, pointing at a young child who reminds him of his high school days. “Yamaguchi-chan, how about you tell us?”

Yamaguchi, freckled and tanned and blonde with big golden eyes, shakes as he stands up, clutching the desk. “S-Seventy-seven,” he whispers, voice barely audible, but Koushi catches it.

“Good job, Yamaguchi-chan! Come on up and show us all how you did it,” he plasters a bright smile, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’ll give you a new eraser.”

Yamaguchi lights up, and he tugs the ends of his crescent-moon hoodie over his pink palms as he moves away from his desk to the board.

When he’s done, and Koushi examines his work to find he’s correct, the teacher claps before rummaging in his bag, looking for the pack of Fruity-Smiley! Erasers he purchased for the purpose of teaching class 5-5 BODMAS. He retrieves it, takes a blushing, grinning, strawberry out of the pack and hands it over to Yamaguchi, who smiles at him gratefully.

“Thank you for teaching us, Sugawara-sensei!”

Koushi’s smile turns the tiniest bit real.

_“Is this the husband of Sawamura Daichi?”_ a rough, rugged voice asks over the phone. Koushi sits up straight, tensing as he wakes up fully. Day 9 of Daichi Missing in Action, 3:57 AM.

“Yes, I’m Sugawara Koushi,” he rasps out, hand instinctively reaching out for his daughter, and gently placing it on her stomach, feeling the rise and fall as she breathes.

 _“I’m Officer Takahashi from the Sendai police department,”_ the voice continues.

“Okay,” Koushi replies. “How can I help you?”

 _“Actually, Sugawara-san, I have good news. We found Daichi-san,”_ the man says. Koushi feels his blood run cold.

“Is he alive?” The moment of silence on the other line makes Koushi’s heart rip itself in half, muscles tearing and blood spurting in his chest.

_“…Barely.”_

His heart stitches itself together again.

He’s fucking freezing.

The cold air caresses his skin, making it sting and rise in goosebumps that litter the curves of his arms.

A warm blanket covers his legs, and his eyes open slightly, only to drop back down again. He tries again, this time successfully peeling his eyelashes from each other, and his eyes open halfway.

He blinks, groggily, before being met with a ceiling that looks nothing like the dark, damp cement roof that he’s woken up to over the past 2 days or so.

He starts choking, eyes widening as he grunts around the plastic wedged in his mouth, and acknowledges the minor sting in his right hand, and barely-there weights on his muscles. He hears the voice of an angel - _“Get help!”_ \- and he recognizes it as _his_ angel.

Footsteps thunder into the room and he feels himself fall asleep again.

_“On the count of three. 1, 2, 3!”_

_The door crumples to the floor with a crash, and the floorboards creak as people pile into the lighthouse. Daichi quickly runs up the stairs to the 6 th level._

_“Clear!”_

_A surge, a shot. Rafters tumble down from the ceiling, and water gushes into the room, wetting the legs of his pants. The officer lets out a loud curse, scrambling out of the way as another rafter crashes into the floor._

_He breaks another door down, coming face to face with a roaring fire and two civilians trapped behind the flames. He hisses in annoyance as polyester curtains melt to the ground, and he exits the room, moving to the one that was fast filling up with water. He crawls out the window, and onto the ledge that runs across the side of the building, and he shuffles over the parapet, sticking to the wall and ignoring the wind slamming into his face._

_The police officer uses the butt of his pistol to break the window open, and stretches an arm to let one of the two people take it so he can pull them out of the quickly disintegrating room and onto the ledge with him._

_Daichi yells words of encouragement, hauling them out of the room and taking their hands as he guides them into the watery room, hoisting them in through the window. He hears the cawing of seagulls and the crash of waves on the jagged rocks below, and then his own scream as his foot slips and gravity pulls him into the swirling water that welcomes him with watery arms and murderous intentions._

“Daichi? Daichi!” Koushi’s hand brushes his brown, overgrown hair away from his cracked skin. Daichi croaks feebly as he opens his eyes, meeting hazel-brown irises that are watery with worry.

“Suga,” Daichi replies, eyes shutting already, but he keeps his eyelids away from each other. “Koushi.”

“You’re alive.”

“I’m alive.”

Daichi is discharged a week later, and fidgets all the way back home, sitting in the passenger seat as he awkwardly closes in on himself, knees knocking the dashboard. His arms avoid touching the door, and he keeps his head tilted from the window and eyes trained on Koushi’s pale hand gripping the gearstick.

When they get home, he immediately goes to the attic and curls into a ball in the middle of the drafty room. No words are exchanged between him, his husband or his daughter. He slows his shallow breathing, rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans, and looks around the attic.

No windows, no memories.

“What’s wrong with you, Daichi? Can’t you stop being so selfish for once?”

“Oh, _I’m_ the selfish one? You’re the one traipsing around with 6-year-olds instead of taking care of our daughter!”

“For hell’s sake, Daichi, _you’re_ the one who’s supposed to take care of her at the moment. You’re barred from work until you’re cleared!”

“Stop rubbing it in, _Sugawara,_ ” Daichi spits out, voice low as Koushi begins to shake with rage.

“We are not doing this right now. Etsu-chan might her us.”

“She’s dead asleep, Sugawara. But you wouldn’t know that unless,” the sound of glass shattering as Koushi slams his cup onto the counter silences the enraged couple.

“Shut up, Daichi! Just,” Koushi begins to bash the already broken cup against the counter with every syllable that he manages to grit out. “Shut. Up!”

For a moment, as Koushi feels the damaged glass dig into his palm, he thinks that this is one of the types of screaming that is slowly, but steadily, tearing apart the Sugawara household. Bit by bit, stitch by stitch, the patterned, homely quilt that was Koushi and Daichi’s young, teenage love is being shredded to pieces by words as sharp as scissors and screams as loud as buildings crashing into the ground.

It’s 5:31 in the morning on a Monday when Daichi catches sight of a sliver of glass peeking out behind the charcoal grey curtains. He feels the oncoming wave of panic, and tries to ground himself, but the first five things he can feel are the indents on his calves, the sting of a freshly healed shoulder, the mild pinch of the stitches on his back and the congested burn of his recovering, broken nose.

Windows.

Injuries.

Memories.

_“You’re safe now!”_

_The squawking of the seagulls was deafening now, filling his ears with incessant screeching and cawing as they flapped around frantically. The waves roared against the rocks, slamming into the sides of the lighthouse as the tides rose and became hungrier and hungrier._

_“I need you to go downstairs and out of the lighthouse, okay?” He lets go of the frightened girl’s hand as she drops into the room, and he lets go of the ledge to grip onto the windowpane, which is unfortunately, slick with seawater._

_His hands slip and he falls, falls, falls, fall-_

“Daichi!” Koushi grips onto him tighter, covering his shaking, trembling frame with his own, trying to calm the screaming, writhing male under him. “Calm down, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

He lets out another agonized scream, and Etsuyo cries with him. 5:45 in the morning and the entire Sugawara household is in tears, and the week has barely begun.

**_Shirabu Kenjiro – Setter Squad <3_ **

_Shirabu-kun! Suga here._

_Sugawara-senpai. How are you?_

_I’m alright! How’s work for you?_

_I’m good too. Bit hectic, but manageable._

_That’s good to hear! Hey, I wanted a favour._

_Sure. What’s up?_

_Do you know any good psychologists? My husband’s been having trouble._

_Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.  
But I’m actually a psychologist! So, I can help you out._

_Oh, thank you so much! Can we meet up later this week, just to catch up and also maybe discuss my husband’s issues?_

_Yeah, I’m free this week. How’s Thursday sound?_

_Thursday sounds fine. Let’s just talk, no need for an appointment, and if necessary, we can schedule an official appointment and I’ll drag him along._

_Okay. How does the coffeehouse near Seijoh sound?_

_Fine by me. I’ll meet you there! Thanks for helping, Shirabu-kun._

_It’s my pleasure, Sugawara-senpai!_

“Daichi,” Koushi calls out. Daichi exits the room under the stairwell- _what’s he been doing in there-_ and smiles shakily at the teacher.

“Hey, Koushi,” he says, leaning towards the stairwell room. “You called?”

“Yeah,” Koushi replies, wrapping up another sandwich. “I’m going to that coffeehouse near Seijoh today. It’s something important.”

“Oh, of course,” Daichi replies, voice hard-edged. “You wouldn’t go if it wasn’t important.”

Unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

_What’s wrong this time, Daichi? Something’s always wrong with me, right?_

_You’d go if it was unimportant anyway. You’re so selfish._

There’s a minute of silence and Koushi places an apple along with the sandwich in a little paper bag, before putting the paper bag next to the Fruity-Smiley! Erasers in his briefcase.

“I’ll be going to school now,” Koushi replies, voice quiet. He picks up Etsuyo, soothingly rubbing a hand across her back repeatedly. He shoulders his bag. “Bye, Daichi. Take care.”

Daichi had long since slipped back into the room under the stairwell.

“Let’s go, Etsu-chan. Tou-san’s busy right now,” he sighs.

Koushi settles in his seat, unwrapping his scarf and placing it on his lap, putting his elbows on the table and propping his chin on his interlaced fingers.

He turns to look out the window, watches as the first snowfall of the year starts, coating the wet ground and bare trees with flecks of white. He smiles, barely, before his eyes snap to the door.

Shirabu shuffles in, smiling at the girl behind the counter, who smiles shyly back, before sitting down at Koushi’s table.

“Sugawara-senpai,” he smiles. “Been a while.”

“My, Shirabu-kun, how you’ve grown!”

They start talking about their lives, because it’s been years since the Setter Squad (Miyagi Version) met up, the last time being when Semi released his debut album, and even that was incomplete because Oikawa was in training, Argentina being 12 hours behind Japan.

“So, Sugawara-senpai, what happened?”

“Oh,” Koushi sighs. “Um. Okay, around a month ago, Daichi was asked to work on a case with some people from the Sendai police department, they were on a trip for 6 days. He went to a lighthouse that was like a hellhole within 2 minutes of them entering- there was one room on fire and another room that was flooded, right next to each other. Daichi apparently broke a window in the flooded room, clambered out onto a ledge, rescued two civilians trapped in the flaming room, and then slipped and fell about 6 stories into the ocean below. God knows what happened, they find him in some sort of weird room about 3 days later, and he wakes up from his coma-sort-of-thing about 7 days later.”

“Oh, God,” Shirabu replies, eyes wide. “Sugawara-senpai, that sounds… Awful.”

“It was. His acts of heroism nearly cost him his life. I was going to tell Etsu-chan that her Tou-san’ll never be coming back at one point.”

“Is he traumatized?” The question is gentle, concerned. _Of course, he’s traumatized_ , Koushi thinks, incredulously. _I just need to prove it._

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. We keep fighting, screaming, he keeps calling me selfish even though I’m the one who has to work to keep this place together because he hasn’t got psychological clearance yet- hell, Daichi hasn’t even stepped foot in the therapist’s office! He wakes up at night in tears, or screaming in fear. His eyes are distant, he’s not all there, all he does is shout and shout and only stops after I lie down on him and tell him that we’re all okay.”

“Is there more?” Shirabu appears to be writing this all down on a notepad. _Where did he get that from?_

“Yeah. He keeps avoiding windows. In the car, he stares at the gearstick, body angled _away_ from the door. He refuses to set foot in our room unless the window’s covered, and spends all his time in the storage cupboard under the stairwell, or in the attic. Both these rooms don’t have windows.”

There’s a beat of silence as Koushi takes a sip of his now-cold, bland, almost muddy-tasting tea, and Shirabu thinks of how to break it to his senpai.

Nothing works better on Koushi than the good, old-fashioned way of telling him straight up.

“I think Daichi-san has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Shirabu replies, “it’s manifested as his avoidance of windows. I’m going to need another assessment, because you said he was missing for 3 days,” Koushi nods, understanding. “The only person who knows what Daichi-san went through during those 3 days is Daichi-san himself.”

Koushi fidgets with his fingers. His question is going to be insensitive, but it’s nagging at him, pulling at his brain. “…Why windows? Why not fire, or water, or dark, damp spaces?”

Shirabu is silent, thinking, before opening his mouth. “Something must’ve happened when he was missing, something that made his fear of windows overpower all the other things you listed. The human brain does things for a reason, Sugawara-senpai. It’s not going to just,” he struggles for the right words, “Get angry at windows for no good reason. It has its issues.”

Koushi nods, Shirabu’s words making perfect sense to him. “I guess we need to schedule an appointment,” the teacher chuckles sadly.

“Yeah,” the brunet replies, handing him his card. “Schedule whenever you’re free. I can adjust accordingly,” the doctor gets up to leave, smiling at his senior.

“Shirabu-kun, please don’t-,” Koushi begins, but the doctor interrupts.

“Sugawara-senpai, it’s fine. It’s my job, and,” he bows down. “You were always my favourite senpai.”

“Is that so?” Koushi begins to smile playfully. “What about Semi?”

Shirabu fights the blush on his cheeks. “I take it back, you’re a troll.”

Koushi laughs, before standing up himself. “Thank you, Shirabu-kun.”

Shirabu hugs him, grinning. “No problem.”

**Daichi <3**

>>

…?  
Oh.  
Okay!

>> I didn’t expect you to agree this quickly, haha

-seen-

>> Daichi?

-seen-

>> Damn it.

Shirabu is the most tactful person Koushi has met. When the couple went to their scheduled appointment, Shirabu had covered the windows with hanging paintings and had a dim light on, just enough so he could see.

Daichi steps into the room after Koushi, and relaxes visibly at the dark space, and smiles warily at Shirabu, who nods back with a small grin.

“Shirabu-kun, thank you for doing,” Koushi gestures to the room, a wide grin on his face, “All this. It’s really nice of you.”

“No problem, Sugawara-senpai. Daichi-san, take a seat here,” Shirabu points to the comfy armchair in front of his desk, just enough for one person. “Sugawara-senpai, make yourself comfortable.”

Daichi nods, sinking into the cushions with a quiet sigh, and Koushi pulls up a chair and sits next to him, a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m here if you need me, Daichi,” he says, squeezing reassuringly.

Daichi nods, his hand clasping the bony fingers on his clavicle, before letting them go and turning to Shirabu.

“I’ve talked with Sugawara-senpai before this, to see if an appointment was necessary. I understand if you are mad at him, but take my advice, and don’t be annoyed. Sugawara-senpai wanted to figure out what was wrong and whether he could do something to help. Unfortunately, Daichi-san, it’s hard to solve issues in your marriage without solving the problems in your head. Plus, it’s by no means easy talk about Sugawara-senpai to Sugawara-senpai, especially if it’s in anger,” Shirabu continues as Daichi’s previously clenched jaw untightens and he relaxes again. “He told me about your constant arguments with him, your avoidance of windows, and what happened to you. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He rummages around a few papers, and scans it, before resuming eye-contact with Daichi. “Daichi-san, from what I’ve garnered, you have PTSD, and it’s manifested as your fear of windows. Your constant arguments with Sugawara-senpai stems from frustration, probably because you aren’t getting cleared for work,” Shirabu smiles at the tensed couple. “Thankfully, Daichi-san’s issue can be treated. Our best medicines are time and CBT, or cognitive behavior therapy. We’re in this together, and with enough support, love and hard work, coupled with Daichi-san’s efforts, he can become better, and return to work within due time.”

Shirabu adjusts his papers and pushes them to the side. “A question Sugawara-senpai had was why you have a fear of windows, and not of fire, or water. The human brain always has a reason for things, and this is no different. Your brain has been traumatized by something directly or indirectly related to windows, and it’s probably not because of the fact that you fell through a window,” he takes a deep breath as Daichi’s eyes widen. “Daichi-san,” Shirabu begins, firmly. “I need you to tell me what happened during the 3 days you were missing.”

**Day 0 –**

When you’re falling to your death, one says that your life flashes before your eyes. The fact that Daichi didn’t see any blurry polaroid reels of him catching cicadas in the summer, playing volleyball in junior high, kissing Koushi outside the gym, being knocked out in the middle of the Wakutani South match, graduating, entering police training or even getting married, should be reassurance enough that he _wasn’t going to die._

Still, finally resurfacing after a deep plunge that crushed his lungs under the weight of the water, trying to get air circulating in his quickly chilling body, ignoring the searing pain and burn of blood on his arms and legs as he gasps for air gave him an adrenaline rush, because _fuck yes, he’s still alive._

He sucks a breath in, shaking as he starts swimming, gripping onto the rocks of the cliff base -that he magically managed to avoid- for support. His legs feel like lead and he feels as if his lower body is barely hanging onto his torso, and that his arm that’s propelling him in the water is falling off. The saltwater gets in his bleeding cuts, but he barely registers the pain. _Just swim. Keep swimming. Think of Koushi. Think of Etsuyo. Get to safety. Safety._

Pressing onwards, he pushes at the rocks of the cliff and propels forward using his arm in the water, but there’s nothing in sight for miles. Fear sets in, but he thinks of Koushi’s hazel eyes and Etsuyo’s soft, happy, babble, and he isn’t scared anymore. He pushes again, only to feel nothingness, and he pushes away from the wall. He’s dislodged something, a boulder of some sort, revealing what looks like a tunnel bored into the cliff, a bit above sea level. He extends an arm upwards, clutching the rock, and places his feet in divots, and hoists himself up, bit by bit until he’s peering into the tunnel.

Daichi pushes one more time and falls into the place, feeling for his torchlight. He finds it, and tries to switch it on, but he can’t- _fuck, shit, it’s dead-_ and so he uses the feeble amount of sunlight filtering through the entrance to survey his surroundings.

The tunnel is wide, with huge metal and cement pillars supporting it, and a base of wood. He’s still vibrating, high with adrenaline, and dares to step forward, further into the tunnels. He spots a wrench, rusty and discarded, and he uses it to pry off some wood off the pillar base, and snaps it in half. Wedging it into his boot, he takes off his bulletproof vest, police shirt and t-shirt, before putting the uniform back on, and rips a bit of cloth from the t-shirt and wraps it around his bleeding, half-splinted leg. He rips more off the t-shirt and wraps it around his rapidly swelling shoulder - _a muscle tear, probably-_ before tying it off. He bundles and pockets the remaining precious shreds of his t-shirt, and shoves the rest of the wood in his waistband. He picks up his gun, not daring to shoot, and continues walking down the tunnels.

Tunnels have openings to them, don’t they?

.

“Tunnels have openings to them. There is something around here that leads to the outside world.”

How long has Daichi been wandering these deserted tunnels? Fuck if he knows, he’s barely got any light now, and his eyes are watering from straining to see in the pitch black, even if he’s well-accustomed to the darkness. He needs some light.

He’s still helpless, but he’s managed to pick up a few handy tools- an oil can (with oil still in it?), another wrench, a pickaxe and grimy cloth, along with supplies that he already has- his gun, some refills, the t-shirt, the wrench, the wood, handcuffs and his vest. His radio is probably fucked, and he flung the taser away from him ages ago. He comes across an old jute sack, and dumps his supplies (aside from the things attached to his uniform) in the sack, and uses his light rope to tie the sack to his waist and drags it along with him.

Still no light, and it’s getting darker.

He begins feeling around the floor with his boots, hoping to come across some rock or stone of some sort, but all he feels is the smooth, unlevelled cement floor. He’s a minute away from screaming with frustration, but god knows what he’s under at the moment. Screaming might unleash all of hell’s fury and the tunnels will come crashing down on his head like some sort of Spirit of the fucking Avalanche.

He finally locates a rock and he bends to pick it up, wincing at the burning of his calves. He grabs the rock, it fits snugly in his fist, and he moves sideways, towards the walls. He makes contact, hissing, mouth open in a silent scream as his damaged shoulder hits the wall, and turns.

He scrapes the rock against the carved-out walls as a test run, and it takes 5 harsh rubs to see sparks. Grinning with delight, he puts the rock on the floor. He takes the grimy cloth and wood piece out of his sack, and wraps the cloth around the piece, before dunking it in oil and holding it to the wall.

After more vigorous scraping, Daichi has a torch- proper caveman style. Fuck yes.

He continues through the tunnels, him and his pet jute sack, and comes across a fork in the path. Left, or right? Which road shall he take?

“Two roads diverged in a dark mine,” he mutters under his breath. “And sorry I could not travel both. And be one traveler, long I stoo- Daichi!” The police officer slaps himself, because he’s babbling fucked up poetry in a life-or-death situation. “Which road, which road, which road?”

He thinks about how he got here- he fell out a goddamn window from a lighthouse on the east, and swam westwards before hoisting himself up into the tunnels. The further west he goes, the more likely he’ll find an opening to a beach or something, probably halfway through Miyagi or bordering Fukushima. Going eastwards will give him nothing, because the lighthouse is on the edge of a sheer drop cliff that melts into mountains, probably near Iwate.

He takes the left tunnel.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And once again.

.

Why on earth is there an _infirmary_ about a 100 ft underground in tunnels bored into the side of a cliff, Daichi will never know. Everything in this place is fucked, broken boards, broken beds, shattered paintings, and splatters of dark liquid- _blood?_

“Jesus,” Daichi breathes out. “Asahi would probably have a heart attack.”

The salt has dried in his cuts, leaving him with nothing but a dull sting. Blood cakes his skin in lines, and he wonders if he can find clean water, or first aid supplies to use on his injuries. Actual gauze might do the job better than salty, damp t-shirt shreds.

He places a bit of the broken board on tall rod which looks like what used to be an IV bag holder, and then places the fire torch horizontally over it, making sure that the flames don’t hit the board.

He rummages through the cupboards, opening rusty boxes that contain moth-bitten gauze pieces and bottles of some sort of stinking liquid that makes him see stars when he takes a sniff.

“Disgusting,” he gags, shutting the 20th such box, and looks desperately for some sort of salvageable material. The blankets are worn down and probably covered in bacteria- he’s going to need an amputation if that shit even comes an inch next to him.

He blanches as he realizes that this whole place is probably crawling with viruses, bacteria, protozoans, fungi, worms, things that travel deep and destroy the very root of his being, and says, “Fuck, I need to get out of here.”

Grabbing the torch and his sack, he limps away from the infirmary, away from his potential death sentence, and into another room, this time with a door to the far corner.

He pushes open the door, revealing a barely-lit tunnel and what sounded like the faint hum of a machine.

Daichi hesitantly moves forward, and the first supporting pillar collapses to the ground, and the ceiling caves in. He swears, the stony hell spirit is finally out to get him, and throwing the fire torch towards the piling up debris, he dives away and into a corner, shielding himself from the falling tunnel.

When the rumbling stops, he peeks up to find a mountain of debris that reaches up towards the ceiling, and he scrambles to his feet and back into the infirmary, jute sack clattering behind him.

That felt like an earthquake, so that means there could be aftershocks, which means that the whole tunnel could crash onto him and nobody’ll ever find his body. Not to mention, this is right next to a fucking _ocean,_ and oceans equate to tsunamis.

_Fuck._

_Get out of here._

He keeps running, ignoring the dead weight of his splinted leg, feeling his way through the tunnels because his caveman torch was crushed by the falling debris. He takes another turn, and soon, he reaches the place where the road forked out first, and takes the path he took.

At last, the tunnel he originally came in through, wide, pillared, intact, and the hole that overlooked the churning ocean. The tunnel is shadowy, barely illuminated by the faint trickle of moonlight, and he trudges to the hole and peeks out.

The ocean is harsh, unrelenting, crashing against the cliffs and roaring. Every time a wave slams into the base of the cliff, salty spray freckles his face, and the ground below him hums quietly.

Daichi knows all too well that if he dares to brave the currents, the sea would throw him against the rocks, and he’d be dead meat.

“I’m going to have to wait it out,” he sighs, and slumps against the wall, using the grimy cloth as his pillow, and drifts into an uneasy sleep, disturbed by the deafening waves.

He dreams of Koushi.

\-------------------------------------------

“That’s what happened on day 0,” Daichi finishes, quietly. Koushi’s spindly fingers are white, he’s white and quivering and teary-eyed. Shirabu, meanwhile, is the epitome of ‘unaffected’, casually writing things down on his pad and once he’s done, he threads his fingers together and looks at the officer in front of him.

“Good job, Daichi-san,” he smiles, encouragingly. “It’s a hard experience to recollect, but you did well. I’m proud of your progress so far, so much in less than 2 hours,” he closes the notebook, and looks at the couple, clearly shaken.

“I think it’s best to end the session here,” he asserts, nodding at Koushi and Daichi. They stand up, Koushi still gripping onto Daichi’s shoulder. “I’ll see you in a few days, alright?”

“Okay,” Koushi chokes out. Daichi doesn’t get why he’s so emotional, but he lets it slide.

“Thank you, Shirabu-kun,” the police officer says. “Pleasure working with you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” the doctor replies, and the couple leaves the room.

It’s silent during the car ride, and as soon as they reach home, Daichi shifts from his previously curled-in position to open the door and get out.

Koushi grabs his arm and tugs gently.

The policeman turns, eyes wide, and looks at Koushi, whose face is streaked with tears, and his heart _hurts._

“Koushi, I’m so sorry,” Daichi whispers, the beginnings of an apology flying out of his lips, but Koushi shushes him, pale, trembling hands shifting downwards to squeeze Daichi’s calloused ones.

“No, don’t be,” Koushi sniffles. “I know you don’t understand.”

…Koushi’s right. He doesn’t. But he wants to try - it’s a rare moment of emotion for Daichi after his accident, and he’d like to use it to perhaps understand what Koushi was going through.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Tell me anyway.”

“I was,” Koushi swallows the lump in this throat as he continues. “scared when I didn’t hear from you. I was so, so scared. I didn’t know where you were, didn’t know if Etsuyo would remember you if you were…” The words trail off, but the thought remains suspended in the thick air of their car. “And you’re back,” Koushi smiles ruefully. “But you’re not you, and I was so mad that the man I fell in love with was replaced by this.”

Daichi would be lying if he said he wasn’t kind of offended by that. He brushes it aside, though, because his husband is clearly unfinished.

“I feel so guilty,” Koushi says, finally. “That I judged you so harshly without knowing what you went through.” The slender hands holding Daichi’s squeeze tighter. “I’m sorry, Daichi, please forgive me. Give me another chance.”

Daichi’s heart is in pain. It’s angry, it hurts, and he’s got so many people to blame for what happened to him. Whoever built the lighthouse. Whoever ignored his yelling. Whoever judged him for being afraid of going back to work. Koushi, who was always annoyed, always about to fight him. Too many things to count, too many things he’ll have the hardest time forgiving.

It all starts somewhere, though. Daichi tentatively, shakily, takes a step towards fixing the shattered pieces of his life by forgiving his husband.

“I forgive you,” he replies, quietly. He removes his hands from his husband’s and cups his delicate jaw, gently. His thumbs, rough from all the cuts and scrapes and pens and guns, caress Koushi’s soft, ash grey hair like it’s the most precious thing on the planet. His angel looks up at him, the dim lights of their driveway reflected in his still teary eyes, and they flutter shut along with Daichi’s. He feels breath fanning the curve of his lips, and slowly, slowly, after so _long,_ presses his lips to his husband’s.

Koushi kisses back, almost eagerly, and he draws back, leaning his forehead on Daichi’s and looking into his eyes. For the first time in days, Koushi sees the man he once knew.

When Daichi wakes up and feels a comfortable weight on his hips, warmth surrounding him and two bony fingers poking his chest, alternating between one and two, he already knows what’s going on.

“Daichi, Daichi, Daichi,” Koushi playfully chants, and Daichi wakes up fully, blinking to adjust to the light in the room. It’s dim, but sunlight streams in through the curtains, painting Koushi in an almost ethereal glow as the bones of his face cast shadows on his skin.

Koushi grins at him when Daichi blinks, and he is overcome with so much _love_ and adoration for the angel sitting on top of him. He wraps his arms around Koushi’s torso and pulls him towards him in a hug, and Koushi goes down with a yelp.

Daichi squeezes him tighter, pressing a kiss to the temple of his giggling lover, shaking him playfully. Etsuyo babbles at her fathers’ antics, and Koushi hoists himself on his elbows to peck Daichi on the lips.

“Hi, baby,” Koushi says, smiling, and Daichi smiles back.

“Hi.”

“Daichi,” Koushi says, knocking on the door of the stairwell room. “Dinner’s ready.”

Daichi shuts his notebook and throws it in the depths of the cupboard in the corner, before shuffling to the door and opening it. He had gone back to his usual, rather apathetic state, constantly terrified of windows, but he had forgiven Koushi, given him another chance.

Koushi slaps his butt playfully, and he says nothing, only flushing red before linking their fingers together and smiling a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

If his husband noticed, he says nothing about it, choosing to inform him of tomorrow’s therapy session. They fall into a comfortable silence, and Daichi thinks something that he knows is stupid.

The thought pulls at his brain all through the night, nagging him as he feels Koushi nestled into him, the backs of his knees capping Daichi’s knees oh-so-perfectly, back flush against his chest, fingers tangled with his. It’s the shower thought that won’t go away, tugging as he watches Koushi fillet fish, prancing around his head like a demon while he changes Etsuyo into a onesie. And while recollecting the memories of the accident, one thing that stays constant as he replays the scene in his head is that _annoying, stupid_ thought.

_Is it the end?_

**Day 1 -**

Daichi wakes up to sunlight burning holes through his eyelids, along with incessant, annoying, _ungodly_ screaming- raspy, untrained, tone-deaf seagulls right outside the tunnels. He wants to shoot all those damn birds.

He balances himself on an arm, surveying his surroundings- the tunnels, his pet sack, his splinted leg that hurts like a bitch- and yawns, blinking away his exhaustion.

New day, new goal. Today’s task was to find a different place to stay in, far away from these tunnels that seemed to collapse with no prior warning, away from the rooms where everything was fucked and towards safety, civilization and hopefully, his husband and daughter.

He grapples with the wall as he hoists himself up, ignoring the searing pain in his leg (that felt like dead weight he had to drag around for- as he had so-sarcastically put it- ‘funsies’) and gathers his supplies and moves towards the hole in the rocks.

He sees the seagulls, still going at it with the cacophonic bullshit, and lets out a groan. Daichi hesitantly steps forward, once, twice, shuffling towards the edge of the hole, and takes a deep breath in and steps into the surprisingly calm sea.

He resurfaces, pulling oxygen into his lungs and gasping, squeezing his eyes shut as he begins to kick, trying to stay afloat. He wades to the cliff base, holding the rocks, and resumes his quest towards the coast (hopefully).

.

Five hours of exhausting, awkward waddling later, Daichi finally comes across another one of those suspicious-looking holes. This one seems wider, however, with carved-out steps that extend deep into the tunnel, and Daichi weighs his options.

The occurrence of another such tunnel is unlikely, but the aftershocks of the previous earthquake hadn’t happened yet, which means that there’s a good chance he’d be crushed to death if the tunnels collapse. But he can’t keep swimming for another 5 hours, hunting for land to rest on. He has to take a chance when he still has the choice of one.

He wiggles onto the ledge, scraping his palms in the process, before hoisting up his pet sack, now wet with seawater. The police officer stands up on the ledge and briefly wonders if he could simply climb up and into the forests above. However, the divots along the smooth expanse of rock are minimal, and he has no ropes and no visible anchor in sight. Unless he was to walk up the wall like some sort of superhero, there’s no chance of getting up the cliff. Banishing his hopes, he ducks and enters the hole.

The steps are close together, and Daichi takes them 3 at a time, glad he’s rushing further away from the roaring ocean. There’s no end to the steep slope, but he tells himself he’ll keep running till he finds another room or the steps run out- whichever one comes first.

The rocky staircase begins to wind, sticking to the sides of the tunnel as it goes round and round, and the end’s in sight, about 7 stories up. He continues the treacherous climb, holding the wall for support as he drags the damned leg behind him. As soon as he reaches more solid land, he’ll adjust the splint, and if he can find freshwater, he’ll redress the wound, he thinks, and makes the final step towards the end of the staircase. There’s a wooden door, thick, heavy, with black metal embellishments, and he pushes it open, ignoring the creak of its rusted hinges moving after probably a fucking eternity.

It reveals a corridor, short and forked into two paths, and he moves through the corridor and peers in each direction. One runs for a few steps before hitting a door, another extends further down and curves the right. He looks at the corridor he’s in currently- a stony, damp floor, thick wooden pillars, strong cemented walls, _what on earth is he in?_ Is it a mine? A hideout? Does he even _want_ to know?

He decides that no, he’s content with not giving a shit about what this place is and he’s glad it’s here, and takes the long corridor, following its twists and turns. He sees a cupboard and opens it, and finds about four staplers, huge ones. He pockets one, and continues along the corridor, before it stops at another door. He pushes it open, revealing a few pipes, brown with rust, and a stone basin. The floor is damper than usual here, water dripping off the soles of his boots, and he notices the tap above the basin, along with water dripping from it. He figures this must be where the miners or whatever took showers, and their reserves were in the tunnels he was in before, now crushed under the debris.

He steps forward, twisting the tap and cupping his hands underneath the faint trickle of water, and when there’s just enough to test, he brings it to his face and slurps, and breathes out a sigh of joy.

“Thank fuck,” he sighs, grinning. “It’s freshwater,” he looks at the leg with a smile, “I’m not going to lose my leg!”

He takes off his boots, the splint and the cloth, and opens the sack, taking out another t-shirt shred. He moves his leg towards him, seeing the dried blood and open wound, and takes the water from the basin and wipes away the dirt that cakes the sides of his leg. The wound isn’t so big anymore, nor does it hurt that much, but it’s still open, and he grimaces, wondering how to close it.

He remembers the stapler, remembers the shows Koushi used to watch before they adopted Etsuyo, remembers how the trauma person stapled open wounds when he was in a hurry.

“Fuck,” he says, simply, and without thinking too much, he pinches his slashed skin together and digs a staple into it. It bleeds, trickling red, and he screams in pain, before taking a deep breath and repeating the action a few centimeters down.

When it’s done, the male gasps, hot tears running down his face, and he cups more water in his hands and washes the blood from his now-closed wound. He puts on his boot, shoves the splint in, and ties the cloth around the split, securing it. He places all his supplies back inside his sack, this time including the stapler, and grips the basin and pulls himself up. With the wall as support, he moves down through the tunnel, encountering the innocuous cupboard yet again, and snags a few plastic boxes of staples in case he needs to redress. He notices a massive box towards the back of the cupboard, and decides to clean it and fill the box with water from the basin. He can’t keep coming back to the basin if he wants to redress his wounds, and what if the water supply suddenly gets cut off?

He drags the box back to the water room, fills it halfway, shuts the box, and drags it with him through the corridor, and he finds the other door, staring at him in the face. He pushes it open, revealing a fireman’s pole with a staircase winding around it, this time with better steps and a railing on both sides.

It’s intriguing, really, tunnels this far down a cliff, with water supplies and medicine reserves and machines and doors and well-built staircases. He doesn’t care much for what went on in these tunnels, but if he could ever visit this place _without_ his life on the line, he’d like it a lot more. It would be more fun, and Koushi could learn some new things to make his teaching more fun. Not that grade schoolers would want to hear about dark, dank tunnels that rumbled and crumpled like hungry, sick, hyenas.

What really interests him at the moment is the feeble, but surely-there light at the top of the staircase. He opens his sack, sitting down, and pulls out his supplies. He takes the box and puts it in the sack, and it’s really fucking heavy now, but it’ll have to do. He puts his things back inside, ties the sack, tightens the rope around his hip, and with a newfound determination, begins another steep, slightly more difficult and much, _much_ longer climb to the top.

Much later, he’s still climbing. _Fucking tunnels,_ he thinks _, fucking mines, fucking shit, why do I keep swearing?_

“Where the fuck does this staircase end?” he pants, wiping the sweat from his grimy face. He huffs, as he looks towards the stony walls next to him. “Hellish stone spirit, or even God, if I’m lucky,” he calls out, “if you’re listening, what the fuck are you playing at?!” As a reply, a small pebble falls from the ceiling, and he takes it as a warning to stop yelling and cussing out the godly (or ungodly) beings.

He continues the climb, not even bothering to look up and try to spot the end of the staircase. After what seems like hours, he makes the final few steps and looks at the door in front of him, on a small stony landing. There’s a faint roar of something, and the honk of a horn, and he pushes open the door, revealing a small room, covered in dust with a single boarded up window with a tiny crack inside. He steps inside, eyes brightening as he spots the dusty bed tucked in the corner, and unties his sack from his hip and collapses to the floor. The adrenaline is going away in ebbs, replaced by waves of exhaustion and delirium from hunger and thirst.

“Got to get the place set up,” he rasps, tiredly, and he tries to get up, but sleep is pulling him in with warm hands and soft kisses and a blanket that smells like Koushi, and he lets his eyelids shut.

.

Daichi hears rumbling, and feels the ground shake under his aching body. The bed rattles on its metal stumps, there’s dust flying everywhere, dislodged by the quivering earth. He hears screams, and the cracking of the ceiling above him, and his eyes widen, desperately darting around, searching for an exit to the room.

Damn it, he realizes, this is the aftershock to the earthquake, and he’s going to _die_ in here if he doesn’t run.

His hands clench over the rope of the sack and he pulls it along with him, crawling on three limbs and dragging the fourth across the floor, reaching out to the wall and hoisting himself up. He stands up, hands planted firmly on the wall, thrown off-balance by the combination of his dead leg and the shaking earth, and his eyes widen as a rock falls from the ceiling an inch in front of him and blocks his only exit- the door.

Fuck.

He’s _fucked._

The ground continues violently raging, and there are muffled screams and screeching tires against the road outside the boarded-up window. The table in the other side of the room falls over, and he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping to the floor and crouching, ignoring the skin of his bad leg wailing at him in pain. He hears the sickening tear of something far above him, and that something, heavy and papery, rolls down the hills surrounding him before abruptly stopping right outside the closed window with a deafening thud.

After minutes of shaking, the earth beneath his ground-in feet stills, and he falls back onto his spine, gulping in air with the hunger of a man who just came back to life.

The earthquake seemed to be less violent than the previous one, and Daichi relaxes, hoping that Japan doesn’t have yet another crappy thing coming its way.

He sets up camp in the room, lifting the table up and back to its original upright position. He then begins untying the rope, rolling it up, and placing it on the floor next to the table. The sack spills its contents out onto the stone floor, and he takes the oil can, staplers, staples, clean t-shirt shreds and not-so-clean cloths and puts them on the table, along with some wood sticks. He drags the massive water tank out of the sack and places it under the table. Now that the sack was empty, he takes it to the dusty bed and slaps the jute against it, unlodging the dust that made its way into every nook and cranny of the structure.

“Seems less dusty,” he comments with a cough, after a few minutes of rigorous beating. He spreads the sack over the springy mattress and uses the bulletproof vest as a pillow. He realizes that he’s right outside a highway, and falls asleep yet again, drowsiness pulling his eyelids close together.

\----------------------------

“So,” Daichi finishes, awkwardly, unsure of how to end it. “Yeah.”

Koushi stares straight ahead, but he’s paler than usual. Daichi fiddles with his fingers as Shirabu surveys his notes.

“Do you want to continue the session?” Shirabu asks, gently, clicking his pen closed.

“I-I think it’s best if we stop,” Daichi replies, placing a hand on Koushi’s shaking thigh.

“Kou, do you want to go home?” He quietly asks his husband, who turns to him with cloudy eyes, and Daichi decides for them.

“Yeah, this is a good place to stop,” he says, turning to Shirabu. “Thanks, Shirabu-kun.”

“No problem,” Shirabu says, walking them to the door. “Next week, same time, alright?”

Daichi nods, guiding Koushi through the clinic until he snapped out of his daze. When he does, no words were exchanged, only Koushi smiling serenely after giving his lover a quick peck on the cheek.

Koushi starts the car in the parking lot, but moves the stick to park and sighs, taking his hands off the wheel and placing them in his lap. Daichi looks at him, seeing his eyes glaze over.

“Koushi, baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Koushi says, playing it off, already moving to shift the stick. “Let’s go.”

“No, tell me,” Daichi presses, he hates seeing his lover cry. Koushi lets a tear fall, opens his mouth and closes it, soundlessly. He tries again, swallowing.

“It’s like hell. And to know it gets worse than this,” his voice cracks with a sob. “I hurt _for_ you, for what you’ve been through, for the times you’ve nearly died over the past month. I’m so glad you’re alive,” Koushi is full-on crying now, hands shaking in his lap, and Daichi reaches over and clasps one in his own. “I’m so glad you’re with me, so please don’t go away, please stop slipping to god knows where, Daichi. It’s not my accident, it’s not my experience, but please,” he holds Daichi’s hand and turns to him. “Can we share our pain? Can we both hurt together? Can you let me in?”

Daichi says nothing, only brushes a finger over Koushi’s brow and swooping in to plant a soft kiss to the stunning mole under his eye. “There’s your answer.”

Daichi, who was previously standing between two cliffs, one foot on harboring hatred and the other on forgiving his husband, bridging the gap between ‘yes’ and ‘no’, finally crosses over to ‘yes.’

_It’s not the end._

“I’ll be leaving first,” Koushi calls out from the doorway as he toes his shoes on. Daichi emerges from their bedroom, rocking Etsuyo, who was still asleep. “You sure you don’t need anything?” Koushi asks, stepping forward to press a kiss on Daichi’s nose and coo at his daughter.

“Yeah, Koushi, I’ll be fine,” he smiles, and Koushi smiles back.

“Okay,” Koushi replies. “I’ll see you soon, cap’n!” He blows a kiss.

“Koushi, it’s been 10 years,” Daichi chuckles, playfully swinging his free hip at Koushi’s. He says, “Love you,” as his husband closes the door on his way out.

He blinks at the sudden, overwhelming feeling of being alone, until the little bundle of warmth in his arms twitches once, twice, and then rapidly kicks her legs, effectively bruising Daichi’s jaw.

“Ouch,” he mumbles, looking down at his daughter, who’s staring at him with big, sparkly doe-eyes. “Never mind. You’re too cute to be mad at, yes?”

Etsuyo giggles, and Daichi brings her close to his chest. “Let’s go get you showered.”

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” Koushi says, pulling off the navy-blue crewneck sweater he wore to his job that day. He unfastens the top two buttons of his collared shirt and sits down next to his husband.

“What?” Daichi asks, looking at Koushi. “Why?”

“I had a,” Koushi struggles for a minute, “disastrous day, in short.”

“What happened?” Daichi places a reassuring arm on Koushi’s shoulders.

“Usual 3rd grader crap,” Koushi replies, chewing at his bottom lip. “But it was tiring. And I don’t think you need to see me cry again.”

“You’re right,” Daichi admits. “I don’t need to see you cry. But I’d rather see you cry and rather you open up to me than keep all that pain bottled up inside,” he pulls his lover towards him, holding him gently. “I can’t do this alone, Koushi. I need you when we’re in that room, holding my hand to stop me from breaking down.”

_I need you there to help._

_I need you there._

_I need you._

And if Koushi could read his mind (he probably could, it was Sugawara Koushi they were talking about, the guy _is_ eerily psychic), he says, “I know.”

**Day 2 -**

If Daichi thinks that the worst is over, then he’s got another think coming. Sadly, he does think so.

He’s toeing the line between unconscious and conscious, slipping between dreams and reality, letting himself sink but then suddenly pulling himself out. However, just as he was about to drift off into dreamland, he was (quite rudely, if he might add) shaken awake by the sound of a stupid fucking bus’s stupid fucking horn.

His eyes fly open, and he sits upright, eyes darting as all the blurry shapes in his room regain focus. The table, his sack, everything arranged neatly in corners.

He swings his legs over the sides of the bed and stands up, yawning, and stretches his sore back muscles. Curse that bed and its chunky, clunky springs.

He decides to get ready for another day, turning to the side to come face-to-surface with the massive boulder that was blocking his only exit route.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

“Fuck. Shit,” he mutters, planting his hands against the surface and pushing against the boulder, but it wouldn’t budge, rooted to the ground of the cave and refusing to move like a stubborn little bitch.

There was another loud honk, and the roar of engines past his boarded-up window, and it slammed into Daichi like the truck outside him.

He was in a room _right next to a highway._

His eyes widen as he slowly steps towards the window, going as close as possible and pressing his ear up to it. He jumped backward as a motorcycle zoomed past, engine sputtering obnoxiously. A police-siren’s wailing cut through the air, and the motorcycle screamed to a halt. Doors slammed open, and he could hear an officer begin reprimanding whoever those funky teens were.

This was his golden opportunity to figure out where the _fuck_ he was.

Judging by the way he pronounced words like ‘kun’ and ‘what are you’, he sounded a lot like Kuroo from Nekoma – the police officer was from Tokyo. He strained his ears and tried to listen to the teenagers and their pathetic effort to save face.

He sagged with relief as he recognized the typical Miyagi-ben, the same thing he and Koushi used, but then stiffened as the other teenager replied with words that were practically dripping in Kesen-ben.

He was either in Miyagi or Iwate – he was still in Tohoku, thank god – but which prefecture was he in?

He closed his eyes, gently hitting his forehead on the thick wood planks that boarded his window. He was about to turn around before he heard the officer’s phone ring, old Japanese film music blaring through his tinny speaker.

Wait.

He raises a hand and slams it against the planks – once, twice, until he was straight-up _punching_ the window. He breathes in, opens his mouth, and yells.

“HEY! HELP! HELP ME!”

No avail. The film music moved further and further away until all that was left was the occasional honk.

_Damn it. Damn it all._

There seemed to be quite a bit of stops right outside his window, Daichi muses. He raises his head hopefully as the tenth car of the day stopped outside the window. The chatter of voices as the car doors slammed shut, footsteps edging closer to his vicinity. The unmistakable click of a camera shutter, a few peals of laughter ringing in the air. Daichi picks himself up off the floor and shuffles gingerly to the window. He inhales, bringing his fist up again and ramming it into the door with the same fervor, same desperation as the time before this and the time before that.

He screams, begs, for some help, for someone to save him, get him out of here, take him back home. He wants _out,_ out of this hellhole, away from danger, tired of living on the edge of the blade. His leg was dying under the weight, there were splinters wedged in his palms, his voice was hoarse from all the yelling.

One would think this would amount to maybe someone hearing all the commotion, and they would come closer and try to listen, try to save him.

The only thing this gave Daichi was more anxiety that swirled in his stomach as he realizes, in horror, that perhaps his doom was right above his head, waiting for the perfect moment to (hopefully not literally) drop down and crush the life out of him.

“Please,” his voice breaks as he drops to the floor, palm of his hand collecting the dust in the dips and bumps of the wooden planks. “Please, just save me.”

Daichi, after experiencing yet another defeat and feeling not-so-strong and not-so-hopeful, finally cracks under the weight of it all, and cries and cries, hoping that someone, _anyone,_ maybe even _Koushi_ , could hear how terrified, how helpless he felt.

_Is this really how I’m going to go?_

He doesn’t dare sleep, choosing to stay up and try and get himself out of here. He was losing track of time, there was no way of knowing what time of day it was. Occasionally, his eyes would glaze over and he’d lose himself in dreamworld, only to be very harshly ripped away with the blare of yet another horn.

In dreamworld, he thinks of Koushi, how he would sit on the couch, remote nestled firmly in his hands and torso leaning forward, and Daichi would sit beside him, one arm on the back of the seat, the other on the armrest. They would watch the V-League volleyball matches – MSBY, Sendai Frogs, mostly, seeing as Kageyama and Hinata had left the Japanese V-League.

He thinks of all the times he played with Etsuyo when they had adopted her, how she would kick her chubby little legs and giggle in glee, tiny fingers gripping Daichi’s in her own, how her food would go everywhere but in her mouth. At night, when there was too much noise coming from her crib, they would pick her up and gently place her in the middle of both of them, and she’d be asleep in a minute.

He remembers how Koushi would talk to him as they lay in bed, right before they slept – his voice was soft and angelic, but his remarks were _far_ from it, they were the wittiest, most sarcastic things Daichi’s ever heard, and that was a lot coming from someone who used to be Tsukishima Kei’s captain.

He would say things like, “You know, I’m pretty sure Kageyama still hates cows. Wouldn’t put it past him, seeing as he has the general knowledge of a paperclip. I wonder how sad he’ll be if he finds out his beloved milk came from cows. God, he’s an idiot – adorable, but idiotic nonetheless,” in the most gorgeous, softest voice ever to exist, and Daichi falls a little more in love every time.

Daichi shuts his eyes, leaning against the wall of his own personal solitary confinement cell. He’s giving up. He’s going to stop trying. He’s had enough.

He’s about to let himself slip away when he hears the rumble of some sort of huge engine. It grows louder as it passes by his window, and then quiets to a halt. Doors slam shut and people walk out, and they begin talking. Daichi tries to hear what’s going on.

“…tree,” a raspy voice (that sounds a lot like his granddad when he got pneumonia) says. “We’re moving it now. Hiro-san, if you don’t mind…”Then, people mill about, metal clangs and drops, he hears scrambling and running, albeit faintly. What the fuck was happening?

The hubbub continues for a while, and Daichi sits and listens intently, trying to figure out what the problem was. Had something fallen? Was someone being rescued? Definitely wasn’t _him_ , that’s for sure.

At one point, the engine starts again, and there’s a chorus of yells as he hears the crunch and creak of something very heavy being lifted. There’s rustling and more noise, and people continue to holler out commands in sync, before silence falls over the area.

Someone claps, but before it can spread, Pneumonia-man from before asks, “What’s that?”

He hears footsteps, and then another voice, definitely more young-sounding, replies, “Sir, that’s some wood.” It’s clear, and much louder than before, and Daichi realizes that they are, in fact, _right outside his window._

With newfound excitement, he pounds against the planks. “HELLO? CAN YOU PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE?”

The younger voice lets out a shrill, demonic screech, rushing over his words as he declares that a bunch of wooden planks are _alive._ The Pneumonia-man grumbles. Daichi grumbles too, this man’s an idiot, of _course_ wooden planks aren’t alive.

Daichi tries again. “HI, CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?”

There’s another noise of surprise, before the Pneumonia-man asks, “Hello?”

_Fucking finally!_

“Hi,” Daichi replies, breathlessly. “I’m Officer Sawamura Daichi from the Miyagi Police Department,” he begins. “I was on a mission when a series of unfortunate events got me stuck in this chamber.”

“Hey… wait, y-you’re the missing officer! Sir, how the hell did you end up here?”

 _No shit,_ Daichi snaps internally, _no shit, I’m the missing officer, and if I told you how I got stuck in the butthole of a hill on the side of a highway, we’d be here for all of eternity, you pig._

“Long story. Can you get me out of here? I have a family to go back to. Please.”

Pneumonia-man sounds very confused, Daichi wonders. Then again, it wasn’t every day that someone talked to a stranded man through a boarded-up window.

Despite his confusion, Pneumonia-man agrees, and soon there are drills and wrenches pulling at the planks of the window, and chunk by chunk, LED lighting streams in. Finally, the window is completely opened up, and Daichi blinks at the faces staring down at him.

Someone opens his mouth and lets out a, ‘Hello,’ and Daichi recognizes it as the Pneumonia-man.

“Hello,” he says, amicably, and his final thought before he blacks out is that Koushi is no longer worlds away, that he was finally going home.

\----------------------------

There are no noises as Daichi finally reaches the end of the tale - only Shirabu’s pen scratching and the gentle tap and scrape of Koushi dragging the nails of his thumbs across each other. Shirabu says a few words, but Daichi doesn’t register it at all, phasing in and out. He was so relieved to have finally opened up to someone about what had happened to him, but unpacking all that really took it out of him. Koushi didn’t look too great either…

“Sawamura-san?”

“Huh?” Daichi snaps back into the present, turning pink as he realized he had zoned out.

“We’ll start CBT from next week, is that okay?”

“Oh, um, yeah, that’s good,” Daichi bounces a leg nervously.

“Good,” Shirabu says, and he proceeds with the goodbyes.

Until they’re outside the office, Koushi is silent. He then pipes up with a, “hey, I’m just going to go to the restroom, I’ll be back.”

Daichi nods, plopping down on a seat outside the bathroom door.

Inside, Koushi trips over his feet, gripping onto the counter to keep himself from breaking his nose on the floor. He takes a deep, shuddering inhale, and slowly breathes out. _Get a grip._

He turns and twists the tap, letting water stream out in a steady jet, and he cups his palms and collects a bit. He brings it to his face and splashes, trying to sense something, anything, because he felt so _numb._ He blinks the water away from his eyelashes and stares at himself in the mirror, amber eyes glinting with tears, and he sniffs loudly and dries his hands.

He moves to open the door when Daichi barges in, tears threatening to push past the walls of his eyelids, and Koushi has about 0.25 seconds to react until he feels a pair of lips on his own.

He lets out a surprised noise, melting into his lover’s touch, letting his tears fall when he feels strong hands holding him close by the waist. He slings an arm over his husband’s shoulders, taking a few steps back until they’re pressed up against the cold tile of the bathroom, and Koushi gently places his hands on Daichi’s cheeks, wiping away his tears.

They part, and Koushi looks at his strong, resilient, _beautiful_ husband dead in the eye, thumbs tracing circles on his cheekbones comfortingly.

“I’m proud of you. I love you. God, how I missed you.”

And Daichi, he breaks down, hands splayed across the expanse of Koushi’s back, arms snaked around his torso. Daichi buries his head in the crook of Koushi’s neck and cries – from relief, from love, from emotions he’s felt so many times but can’t put labels on. He cries, emptying his reservoir of tears, and when he’s done and his eyes feel drier, he lifts his head from Koushi’s neck, surges forward, and kisses him. Their lips move against each other in all the right ways, and Daichi can finally label an emotion he’s felt all the time around Koushi.

Complete.

“Koushi,” Daichi says, looking out the window. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“C’mon, Dai, just 5 more minutes and we can close the curtains,” Koushi grips his hand tighter, looking at the trees behind the panes of glass swaying in the breeze. He steals a glance at his husband – and… Oh, _wow,_ he’s having a hard time.

Daichi is _shaking,_ sweating, bottom lip captured between rows of teeth, eyes glazed over and eyebrows scrunched together in frustration as he struggles to keep his vision on the window, _only_ on the window, trying his hardest to not avert his gaze.

“What are you thinking of, Daichi?”

“H-How I fell,” he chokes out, getting even more unnerved. “How I slipped off the windowsill and how it felt like my stomach dropped out of my body, how I fell 6 stories into the sea.”

Koushi’s heart squeezes in his chest, and he looks out the window yet again. “Remember,” he begins, nervously. “Remember how Kageyama and Hinata got together?”

**10 years before-**

_“Dumbass Hinata, how many times have I told you to stop jumping like_ pyoing-pyoing _and go more like_ doong _?!”_

 _“Bakageyama,_ pyoing-pyoing _and_ doong _sound the fucking same!”_

 _“They do not!_ Doong _sounds like_ bam _and_ wham _! Go more like_ doong _, like_ bam _, like_ wham _!”_

_“WHICH ONE IS IT!?”_

_“THEY’RE ALL THE SAME!”_

_“SO, DO I GO LIKE_ PYOING-PYOING _TOO, IF THEY’RE ALL THE SAME?!”_

_“NO!”_

_Kageyama had long since gripped the collar of Hinata’s shirt and pulled him towards his face, and Hinata, with his feet dangling about 6 inches off the ground, glares at Kageyama, hands balled into fists and ready to pummel the living shit out of the setter._

_“Kageyama,” he says very seriously, with a glare. “You fucking suck at sound effects.”_

_“Why, you little-”_

_In the corner, Ennoshita mutters a little - "Who's stupider - Kageyama, Hinata or a duck?"_

_“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi asks, looking at the idiot duo. “Do you think we should intervene?”_

_“No,” Tsukishima replies, dryly. “They need to use their spinal reflex and sort it out themselves.”_

_“You know, Tsukishima has a point,” Koushi says, snapping his fingers. Daichi raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, Suga?”_

_“It’s the romantic tension,” Koushi replies, gravely. “Only a true love’s kiss will resolve it.”_

_“You’re telling me we have to endure this shit until Kageyama and Hinata kiss?”_

_“Pretty much.”_

_“I fucking hate it here.”_

_Yamaguchi sighs, spinning the volleyball between his hands. “I can’t practice floaters as long as these idiots are in the middle of the court trying to punch each other. Worst part is, the vibe they’re giving off makes me feel like I’m watching something… Private.”_

_“Honestly, we should go bash their heads together for them,” Tsukishima deadpans._

_“Wait for it,” Koushi says, pushing down on Daichi’s back so he could stretch his hamstrings. “I feel it coming – Yo, there it is!”_

_“No fucking way,” Yamaguchi says, looking at Kageyama and Hinata, who were finally kissing, and the romantic tension or whatever Koushi called it was finally dissolving._

_“YOU KNOW WHAT, DUMBASS?!” Kageyama yells, dropping Hinata onto his feet. “I LIKE YOU!”_

_“I LIKE YOU TOO, IDIOT! BUT YOU’RE A TERRIBLE KISSER!”_

_“WILL YOU SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE-”_

_“Okay, maybe now we should intervene,” Koushi says, offering a hand to Daichi and pulling him to his feet._

_“Yeah,” Daichi grins. “Maybe we should.”_

“And then we pried them apart before Hinata could break Kageyama’s jaw,” Koushi finishes, giggling. He hears a chuckle come from his side, and he turns to look at Daichi.

For the first time over the past 10 minutes, Daichi is relaxed. He’s smiling as he looks out the window, his frame isn’t tensed and shaking, he seems comfortable, and Koushi’s heart swells with pride, and he places an arm over Daichi’s shoulders and pulls him into a hug.

“10 minutes over, Daichi,” he says, with a smile that his husband returns.

“Thank you, Koushi,” Daichi replies as he leans into Koushi’s embrace, and Koushi gives him a chaste kiss on his hair.

“Anytime, my love. Anytime.”

“Hey, Koushi,” Daichi says, wrapping his arms around his husband’s slender waist. He places his chin on his shoulder, tilting his head so it’s leaning on his.

“Morning,” Koushi smiles, scoring another line on one of his students’ answer sheets. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Daichi hums. “So,” he begins, a little nervous. “We haven’t had a date in a while.”

Koushi turns the paper on its side, red pen suspended in the air as he surveys the answer. “Did this kid really just write ‘the children peeled the skin off their shoes’ or am I tripping,” he mutters, in disbelief. He turns to look at his lover and gives him a smile. “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“Do you want to have an indoor date?” Daichi asks, index finger tracing little lines over the planes of Koushi’s abdomen. His ‘asking people on dates’ skills are quite rusty, he’s been in a committed relationship since his first year at the police academy. Hell, he’s been _married_ to this man for the past 3 years!

“I would love to,” Koushi replies, resting his cheek against Daichi’s with a satisfied hum. “Are we just going to make sushi and dance around like fools?”

Daichi chuckles, turning his angel around and placing a quick kiss on his lips. “If that makes you happy,” he kisses him again, “then sure.”

The tranquility of a Sunday afternoon in suburban Miyagi is rather rudely interrupted by the sudden eruption of noise from speakers in the Sugawara-Sawamura household. Japanese music fills the entire street, followed by a muffled, “shit,” and Daichi hurriedly closes the windows in the living room.

“Forgot about that,” he smiles, sheepishly, and Koushi waves his hand.

“I’m super hungry, let’s make something simple, like hosomaki,” Koushi suggests, and Daichi nods eagerly, turning to the corner of the kitchen.

“Etsu-chan, doesn’t hosomaki sound great?” Their daughter grins, arms flapping wildly in the air, and Daichi and Koushi share a look, shrug their shoulders, roll up the sleeves of their matching burgundy sweaters and get to work.

They start by taking the rice container from one of the many cupboards under the counter.

“Make sure it’s the short-grain rice, Dai,” he says, holds the bowl as Daichi pours in the rice from the container. Koushi troops to the sink to wash the rice, chattering all the while, and Daichi listens with a lovesick grin on his face. “Hinata gave this as a gift, it’s from Toyama,” he rambles. “Apparently it’s from Onigiri Miya’s supplier, that captain from Inarizaki.”

“Kita Shinsuke?” Daichi supplies, stretching in order to pull out dashi kombu, sugar, rice vinegar and salt from their little basket next to the microwave.

“Yeah, Kita-san,” Koushi confirms. “It’s Koshihikari, really fancy stuff. Apparently Hinata can’t be bothered with rice in the dorms, since Miya-kun cooks for them, so he gave it to us as a gift for you coming home.”

“Sweet of him,” Daichi muses, gently wiping the dashi with a paper towel. He expertly avoids the white powder, because the last time he wiped off the substance, there was no umami. In more eloquent words, it tasted crappy. “Although the reason is typical of Hinata. Kid’s a troll.”

“He learnt from the best,” Koushi plugs in the rice cooker and Daichi places the dashi in his extended palm.

“Why, yes, he did,” he replies, and kisses Koushi’s forehead with a laugh.

Koushi rolls his eyes playfully, giving his husband a gentle shove as he shuts the rice cooker and pulls out a saucepan. He pours in some rice vinegar, sugar and salt and boils it over the heat, whisking to dissolve the sugar. Daichi washes some cucumber and starts chopping it into strips.

They work in silence, the only noises the steady rhythm of tacica’s Butterfly Lock and the much more unsteady beats of Etsuyo’s baby maraca. They sneak sly glances at each other, Daichi busy admiring the way Koushi’s eyes glowed with a beautiful amber hue when the afternoon sun hit it just right.

He moves onto cutting some tuna strips, while Koushi works on mixing some store-brought natto with seasoning, nose crinkling at the pungent scent.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the scent of natto,” Daichi says, and Koushi agrees wholeheartedly, nodding with so much passion that Daichi finds it comical, and suppresses a laugh.

The rice cooker pings, and Daichi sets aside his tuna strips and shuffles to the cooker, taking the tub out and putting it on the counter. He rummages in the cupboards for the hangiri, and just as he’s about to shut the cupboard and tell Koushi that the hangiri is Missing in Action, pale, slim hands slide it onto the counter in front of him.

Daichi looks at his husband, who smiles softly and pecks his cheek. It’s a small gesture, often going unnoticed or dismissed as an act of courtesy, but it makes him feel all giddy inside – his partner noticed him fumbling around for the tub and got it for him. A short, sweet gesture that makes him fall harder, like all the other short, sweet gestures that Koushi’s done for him over the course of 14 years.

He takes the sushi vinegar after transferring the rice into the hangiri, pours it in, grabs a rice paddle and separates the chunks of rice into three extremely unequal segments. He folds the rice over itself, mixing the vinegar in until it was cooled to about room temperature.

Koushi dampens a towel and wrings out the water, placing it over the hangiri, and Daichi sneaks in a tickle session, gently digging his fingers into his husband’s sides and snickering at Koushi’s breathless giggles.

“Ooh, Co.star is playing,” Daichi points out, grunting a little as he lifts Etsuyo out of her highchair and spins his daughter around.

“Ah, Co.star. Asahi keeps crying every time he listens to it.”

“What the hell? Why?” Daichi asks, swaying to the music with Etsuyo pressed against his chest, a hand on her soft hair.

“Something about the Hubble Space Telescope,” Koushi mutters. “Hey! Don’t cuddle without me!” He wraps his arms around his husband and their kid. “I want to cuddle you both too!”

Daichi smiles, handing Etsuyo to Koushi, and his lover brings her to his face level and rubs their noses together, eliciting the most nonsensical noises of delight from the baby.

“She looks sleepy,” Daichi says. “Should we let her take a nap and then wake her up for sushi?”

Koushi nods. “I’ll do that! You can start without me.”

“Alright,” Daichi replies, and turns to the counter, cutting up some sheets of nori and placing it on the sushi-rolling mat with the shiny side down. He moistens his hand with some vinegar and grabs a handful of sushi rice. He places the lump on the left center of the stretch of seaweed and spreads the rice evenly across the sheet, leaving some space at the top. He takes a strip of tuna and places it in the middle of the bed of rice, rolls the sushi mat over the roll, holds it firmly in place for a few seconds and then unrolls the mat, revealing a perfectly cylindrical roll. Satisfied, he runs a knife under the kitchen tap for a minute before cutting the roll into half and then cutting the halves into threes. He places them on a plate and moves onto the next one.

It gets him thinking, about recent events, about everything that’s been happening. He thinks about how he’s been trying extra-hard to gain some semblance of control over his thoughts and his fear of windows. He’s really grateful to Shirabu, because his kind words and advice is doing wonders to help him out.

He’s proud of himself and his progress. If he keeps this up, he could get cleared for work in a month or two, and be back on duty as an active member of the force. The very thought of being at the station again sends waves of excitement throughout his body.

Daichi places the next set of sushi rolls on the plate and continues with the next one.

He thinks of Koushi’s smiles and silent support and all the times he’s gotten through therapy by thinking of him. He’s so in love with this man, in love with his tired grins in the morning and his ridiculous doodles when he grades papers, in love with the sound of his humming in the shower and how he makes Daichi feel safe and secure. Koushi’s like a warm bed in a ruthless storm, a homely diner in the middle of a notoriously boring road trip. To Daichi, his husband is comfort. His husband and daughter, his family is his home.

His daughter is _so_ smart, and he feels a surge of pride every time he sees her soft, sparkly eyes and dark, cropped hair. His heart constricts in his chest whenever he watches her tumble and giggle and roll around and wave her toys wildly in the air, because it’s so _endearing_ to watch her be clumsy and pick herself up right after. Sure, he’s scared about how the world might treat her when it’s time for her to start going to school and whatnot, but he’s also confident that she’d be okay no matter what.

Koushi reappears, and they make the final rolls of sushi together.

“You just put her to bed,” Daichi realizes. “Let her sleep for a bit and we’ll feed her some later?”

“Works for me,” Koushi replies, and he washes his hands at the sink, grabbing Daichi’s with his own. He perks his head up at the change of music, and then turns to his husband and says, “Let’s dance!”

“I thought you were hungry, baby?”

“Yeah, but ‘Koukou’ is playing! It always gets me all happy and dance-y,” Koushi explains.

“Fine, fine,” Daichi gives in, and pulls his husband closer by the waist. He locks his arms around him, and Koushi places his hands on Daichi’s shoulders, and they begin swaying to the music, gently at first.

The guitar builds up, and Daichi chuckles as he spins his lover around, dipping him down for the pre-chorus. They continue to move softly, before the song crescendos into the chorus, and when it does, they’re laughing wildly, hugging each other tightly as they stagger around the kitchen.

The second verse starts, and they’ve given up on dancing, choosing to sing out-of-tune to the lyrics, holding each other’s hand and staring exaggeratedly into each other’s eyes. By the time the song launches into the second chorus, they’re on the floor, laughing like mad.

As the song softens and dips into the bridge, they share a gentle kiss, and part during the final chorus, and it’s all so dramatic and poetic and whatnot that they’re in tears all over again.

If you asked Koushi, “Hey, what’s so funny?” he’d tell you that it was nothing. It’s more of it _being_ fun _._ Dancing around with his husband in his kitchen, feeling his worries melt away at every cliché move they pulled – _that_ was fun. Accidentally making a love-story-music-video-thing to the song was fun.

And when ‘Fractal’ started playing, they did it all over again.

Koushi slides into the passenger seat, shutting the door and looking at his husband with a supportive grin. Daichi smiles back, shaky, the smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“You got this,” Koushi whispers, giving him a thumbs up. “I’m here if you need it.”

Daichi nods, pursing his lips as he turns the key and starts the car. He pulls out of the driveway, and as soon as they’re on the road outside their house, he takes a shuddering breath and breathes out, fingers loosely wrapped around the steering wheel. “Count of three,” he mumbles. “One, two, three,” and he presses his foot on the pedal and shifts the gears, and the car starts up, moving forward.

“How are you feeling?” Koushi asks, fiddling with his fingers.

“Kinda sick,” Daichi admits, lips twisted into a scowl. “How many minutes have passed?”

“Only 47 seconds, Dai,” Koushi sighs. “You still have 14 minutes and 13 seconds left.”

“Rats,” Daichi mumbles. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“It’s,” he bites his lip. “It’s pretty stupid. I’m scared that we’ll get into a car accident or something, and you’ll be trapped under the windows and you won’t be able to get out,” he struggles to keep his eyes on the road, every time he feels his gaze subconsciously shift to the wheel or dashboard or even the speedometer, he tears it away and looks through the front window of the car.

This game of tug with his mind is almost like trying to tame a rabid animal, he thinks. Like he’s a hunter flinging a net over a writhing, angry cheetah, trying to keep the net in place as he traps the creature.

He’s scared he’ll lose to his mind. He’s scared because he knows that the minute he lets his head take over, it’s instant death, no rematches. He’s trying, he’s trying, but hell, why can’t his vision stay on the goddamn fucking road, why, why, why-

“Hey, Daichi,” Koushi says, voice thrumming with excitement. “Isn’t that _the_ bar?”

Daichi turns to look out his door’s window, and nods. “Yeah. The bar you took the first years to.”

Koushi giggles. “Remember what you walked into?”

**5 years ago -**

_“Hey, kids,” Koushi says, casually dropping an arm on Hinata and Yachi’s shoulders. “You’re all 20 now, right?”_

_“Yeah,” Hinata replies, pointing to Kageyama, who is sulking on the beanbag in Tsukishima’s room. “It’s Mr-I-Drank-Spoiled-Milk’s birthday today.”_

_“Kageyama, I’m so sorry for your lo- Wait, what?!” Koushi claps a hand over his mouth before shaking his head. “I meant, Kageyama! Happy birthday.”_

_“Thanks,” the setter replies, gruffly, voice flat. Hinata jabs an accusatory finger at him._

_“You sure you sound thankful? You sound like your fuckin’ cat died, Kageyama-kun!”_

_“I don’t have a cat, dumbass!”_

_“Oh, I seem to have started a war,” Koushi says, laughing awkwardly. The last time he had to deal with these two was 4 years ago, sue him if he’s lost touch._

_Yamaguchi rolls his eyes, and Yachi quickly elbows Kageyama and gives Hinata’s ass a nice kick._

_“Shut up, goons,” Yachi says, glaring at the two of them. “Sugawara-senpai was going to say something.”_

_“Oh, yeah,” Koushi clears his throat. “Let’s go drinking.”_

_The room is silent as Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Yachi, Hinata and Kageyama take a good, long, hard look at Koushi in his light blue ‘Potato’ tee, who is standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips proudly as if he was the human incarnation of a narcissistic Perry the Platypus, fresh from defeating Dr Doofenshmirtz for the nth time, and wonder if this man was actually serious._

_Tsukishima says this much, and Koushi nods gravely, revealing that that, in fact, was the look he was going for. Tsukishima then quietly announces that he’s got 14,000 yen saved just to pay the cliffs to call his name so he could jump off said cliffs unbothered and unquestioned._

_Despite the initial shock, 5 hours later, they’re seated at a bar, lighting dim and bulbs hanging low over their heads. Koushi knew how to hold his alcohol well, but these kids? Ha! Noobs._

_For starters, Tsukishima was passed out on the counter after his 3 rd glass of tequila. Kageyama refused to stop hiccupping. Yachi was angrily chugging her beer because it ‘wasn’t making her drunk.’ Hinata kept asking Kageyama what tofu was made of- Oh. Thinking about it, that seemed like normal-Hinata behaviour. The spiker wasn’t acting that zooted, really._

_And then there was Yamaguchi._

_On the stage._

_With a mic._

_Oh, sugar honey ice tea._

_“Hit it,” Yamaguchi commands, and Koushi shivers. The familiar starting chords of an all-too-familiar song start playing, and Koushi immediately downs his wine glass and shuffles up to the stage too, grabbing a mic. Yamaguchi cheers for a second before launching into song._

_Daichi walks into the bar in a simple hoodie and jeans at 10:15 PM sharp, as Koushi told him to do. He’s immediately met with the sight of Koushi and the former first years screeching the lyrics to ‘Best Song Ever.’_

_Koushi is currently on Hinata’s shoulders, yelling the lyrics into the mic while facing Yachi, who was on Kageyama’s shoulders. Kageyama and Hinata were simply growling at each other (Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose at this, some things just never change- Kageyama was hiccupping mid-growl, and Daichi suppresses the urge to turn on his heel and leave his boyfriend and unwillingly adopted children behind at the bar). Tsukishima is busy using Yamaguchi as a guitar, grabbing the server’s left arm and using it as the fingerboard, and his torso was the body. They were also singing along to the song, providing their own unhelpful, tone-deaf rendition in accompaniment to Yachi and Koushi’s equally shitty version._

_The song ends with everyone on their knees and staring up at Kageyama, who was on his feet and striking the cringiest pose Daichi’s seen in all of his 23 years of life._

_“Right, show’s over,” he hollers, clapping his hands to get their attention. Hinata rolls off the stage, dropping to the floor with a sickening splat, but quickly scrambles up and jogs to the former captain as if nothing had happened. Koushi follows, greeting Daichi with a kiss to the cheek, and Kageyama, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima and Yachi stagger their way through crowd, arms linked and leaning on each other in a way that made them look like some sort of horrendous, 4-headed monster._

“Then I herded your drunk butts out of the bar before we were banned from the premises,” Daichi recalls with a grin. “Good times, good times.”

“Yeah,” Koushi replies, also smiling, and a sense of calm washes over him as Daichi takes the next right turn and begins the 15-minute drive home.

As soon as they’re in the driveway, Daichi rests his head on the door’s window with a satisfied smile. Koushi takes his hand and intertwines their fingers.

“You didn’t lose today, Dai,” he says, running a thumb over his lover’s knuckles. “No, you won the match and then fought the match again, today. We spent 30 minutes in the car and you were doing amazing,” he brings his hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it. “I’m so proud of you.”

Daichi chuckles, pulling his hand out of his lover’s and getting out of the car. Koushi follows, smiling like an idiot, and yelps as Daichi picks him up bridal-style and carries him into the house, laughing all the while.

“Daichi, what are you doing?” Koushi asks, rocking Etsuyo gently as she slept.

“Looking out a window,” Daichi deadpans. “But it’s hard. I’m not dying on the inside or anything, but I keep remembering little bits of the tunnels and stuff and I get nervous.”

“Ah,” Koushi takes a seat next to him. “I was talking to Asahi today.”

“Oh? About what?”

“Nothing much, just trolling him. And of course, I had to bring up the bat incident.”

Daichi sniggers at this statement. “Not the bat incident,” he gasps, giggling.

“Yes, the bat incident,” Koushi repeats, also laughing.

**11 years ago**

_“Listen up, kids,” Ukai announces. “We’re gonna play a 6v6 volleyball match today. Daichi is Team A’s captain and Sugawara is Team B’s captain.”_

_The team nods enthusiastically, Hinata and Nishinoya practically vibrating in excitement._

_“There’s a catch, though,” Ukai adds. “We’re playing volleyball with footballs. And the losing team needs to play baseball.”_

_“What the-” Kageyama begins, and Tanaka gives him a firm thunk on his head._

_“No swearing, my liege,” he whispers, and Kageyama nods, bowing in apology. Koushi stifles a laugh at the awkward interaction._

_“It’s the last practice before the third years graduate! I wanted to make it fun for you all,” Ukai clarifies, and the third years in question flush a deep red in gratitude._

_That gratitude was short-lived._

_Daichi’s team consisted of Kageyama, Hinata, Yamaguchi, Narita and Ennoshita. Koushi had Nishinoya, Asahi, Kinoshita, Tsukishima and Tanaka._

_An equal distribution of ‘volleyball monster himbos’, ‘decent to some extent but fools’ and ‘ones with the functioning braincells’ between both teams, as Yachi (very sweetly) put it._

_The match commenced, and only God knows how the hell Kageyama could set a heavy, deflated football in such perfect arcs, and not even Satan could figure out how Nishinoya managed to get the same damn ball to Koushi perfectly each time._

_Despite each team trying their hardest, the match ended 23-25 in Daichi’s favour._

_And so, the baseball games began. The rules were pretty simple, and they played it outside in the fields behind the school. Ukai would throw 10 balls each at the 6 members of the team, and whoever got the most balls could choose the penalty for the team and had the privilege of doing only half of the penalty. Pretty awesome._

_Koushi, as the team captain, takes his spot and gets 4 balls. Nishinoya manages one really good ball, Kinoshita easily scores 3 half-decent ones, Tsukishima loses all of them, Tanaka (for all his lectures about_ how being too lanky is a disadvantage here, Tsukishima _) loses all of them too._

_And then there’s Asahi._

_He steps up to the place in front of the catcher, Daichi, and knees shaking, holds his bat in position. Ukai bowls, he swings a_ painfully _long time too early, and realizing his mistake, swings backwards and manages to get the ball that way, and it zips past Daichi, barely missing his head and zooms into the undergrowth._

_“I guess that’s like, a half?” Koushi says, still dumbstruck at Asahi’s unbelievable (mis)fortune._

_Asahi gets into position again, holding the bat up, and this time, he swings perfectly, and the shot! Oh, the hit! It was_ glorious _, magnificent, the ball swerves high into the air in a gorgeous arc- Wait._

_Is that the bat flying along with it?!_

_The team watches, awestruck, as the bat soars across the sky, passing in front of the afternoon sun in a way that made it look like the Baseball Bat of the Heavens and drops to the ground a few dozen feet away with an almighty crash._

_It takes all of 5 seconds before every member of the Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club is practically dying on the ground, laughing hysterically._

“Gosh,” Daichi says. “What a clown he was,” he wipes a tear of joy from his eye, and Koushi nods, still grinning.

They sit like that for a while, just their tiny family of three, in front of the window in their living room, watching the sun sink below the horizon, happy and content.

The first time Daichi ever goes to the therapist without Koushi is, nerve-wracking at first, but soon builds up into one of the best days of his life.

“So,” Shirabu begins, adjusting a few papers on his desk. “Sawamura-san, I’m going to ask you a few questions.”

Daichi nods. “One, how are you today?”

“I’m okay,” he replies, honestly. “I haven’t been freaked out by any windows, so that’s a plus.”

“Glad to hear it! Two, has therapy helped you out?”

“Yeah, it’s helped me a lot. But I don’t see it as a necessity to healing anymore. I feel like I can do this myself now, you know?”

“That’s wonderful news,” Shirabu smiles softly. “Three, what do you feel when you look out a window now? What do you remember? And compared to what you felt and remembered before, is it better or worse?”

Daichi ponders over this one, turning it over and over in his head. He furrows his eyebrows, lips twisted into some sort of thoughtful frown. Shirabu watches, mildly amused as his expression clears up in a second and he launches into a speech.

“Before, when I looked out of windows, I felt, uh… Scared? Nervous? I was really on edge and jittery and I wasn’t having fun _at all_. I used to remember how I fell down from that window in the lighthouse, how I spent hours in that chamber so close yet so far from freedom because of the window being boarded up. But now? I feel proud when I look out a window. Proud of myself for getting through this and making it out alive. I feel proud of my husband and my daughter for supporting me even though I was so difficult to deal with. And I remember silly things, like how two of my juniors got together in the middle of practice, or the time I had to yank my little brother out of the vending machine because my sister thought it would be a good idea to cart him off that way. Windows aren’t scary anymore. I don’t hate them anymore.”

Shirabu listens intently, and once he’s sure Daichi’s done, he signs a paper and hands it over to him. “First off, I’m extremely proud of how far you have come. We can stop our weekly therapy sessions, but I would like a check-in every month, just to assess and keep a tab on your state of mind. Now, congratulations, Sawamura-san. You’re cleared for work.”

There’s a window on the ground floor of Daichi and Koushi’s little house. It’s right in front of their yard, and inside the living room. It’s a massive, floor-to-ceiling window that’s been curtained for a while.

Not for much longer, Daichi thinks, and gently tugs at the curtain and pushes it to the side, blinking as the morning sunlight streams into the living room and beautifully suspends dust particles in its wake. He then bends, holds the handle, and slides it upwards.

He then takes a shower, gets dressed in some sweatpants and a hoodie, grabs a few random items and goes outside to the yard. He spreads a blanket on the dewy grass and takes a seat, before pulling out a ‘One Piece’ volume and starting to read it.

(If anyone stared at this rather odd display, no, they didn’t. Hush.)

Nearly an hour later, Koushi turns over, sheets rustling. He pops his head out from under the blanket and looks around his bedroom, dimly lit by the sunlight obscured by the curtains. He pushes off his comforter, goes to his cupboard, gets some clothes and shuffles to the bathroom to take a shower.

After his shower, once he’s neatly dressed in some jeans and a white button-up, he emerges from the bedroom and goes to the kitchen, rummaging around for a few packets of Goupita, humming some silly advertisement jingle. As soon as he retrieves it, he puts it in his backpack and goes to the living room.

Daichi looks up from his ‘One Piece’ volume as soon as he hears Koushi’s shoes near the living room, and he locks eyes with his husband, who quirks an eyebrow.

“Good morning?” Koushi says, quizzically. “What’s all this?”

“Good morning,” Daichi greets, shutting his ‘One Piece’ book and putting it on the blanket. He gets up, dusting the seat of his sweatpants, and then gives his lover a smile. “I have something to say.”

“Go on,” Koushi says, making a movement that looked like he was about to walk into the garden through the window to join Daichi.

“Wait, stay inside,” Daichi says. Koushi stands still, unsure of what to do with his hands, and looks at Daichi with confusion etched into his features.

“Okay,” Daichi begins lamely, taking a deep breath. “Sugawara Koushi, I love you. Six months ago, on a day not too different from this one, I went missing off the coast of Miyagi. I landed in the ocean, managed to swim through it, climbed up a cliff and into a tunnel. When the earthquakes struck, I was still underground. I was sure I was dead meat. But I wanted to get out of there somehow. I wanted to escape no matter what, and come back to you and Etsuyo and the life I have here. The tunnels lead me to a dark room, with yet another earthquake, and this was right outside the highway, and I still had no way out. I was terrified, confused. I was so scared I wouldn’t make it out at all, let alone alive. I was tired, and I was about to give up. And then, I remembered you, and all the things that we did here, and I realized that it wasn’t _fair_ to you for me to give up so easy. It’s not fair at all. That’s why I fought, I wanted to be back here, back to you, back to the life I was inches away from leaving behind.

I love you, because of your smile and your eyes and your supportiveness. Everything you are means the whole world to me. But I’m in love with you because of your short, sweet gestures, for the things you’ve done for me, for the life you’ve given me. Everything and anything you do means the goddamn universe to me, Koushi. You – all that you do, all that you say, all that you are, all of you – are who I live for. And I’ve been in love with you for years and years, and you know that as much as I do. Today, however, I’m not the same Daichi I was all those years ago. I’ve changed. I’ve changed because you changed me. You’ve taught me so much; you’ve helped me heal and grow. You held my hand and you were my guide when I was stumbling through the darkness. You hugged me and were the proudest of me when I finally made it out of there.

Sugawara Koushi, you’re the reason I’m okay now. Without you, without all you’ve done, without all you are, I’d be nothing today. I wouldn’t even be here today. So,” he reaches into his pocket and gets down on one knee, smiling uncontrollably at Koushi’s shocked expression and sparkling eyes. “Can I take your last name? We’ve been married a while, but if you let me, I want to show the world that _you’re_ the one who has made me what I am now.”

Time slows down and everything staggers to a standstill as Daichi waits for his answer, heart pounding so loud he can hear it himself. The apprehension, the anticipation, everything is condensed and crammed into a single minute. It’s similar to watching an approaching wave, observing as it builds and builds, towering high, high, higher until it’s crest looms over you, foam far above your head. This moment isn’t that long, but it feels like an eternity. Daichi can _feel_ every atom in the space around and within him thrum with excitement.

Koushi blinks once, twice, before his face splits into a grin so full of unadulterated joy that Daichi feels like he’s staring at something surreal, like the creation of the solar system.

“Yes,” Koushi breathes out. “Sugawara Daichi has the _nicest_ ring to i- Oh!” He stops midsentence as Daichi opens the ring box, revealing two matching platinum bands, a little thick and they didn’t clash with the couple’s silver wedding bands.

Daichi can practically hear Kuroo’s tired voice over the line – _“Platinum rings, eh? Didja know that platinum’s the king of all metals? It’s rare, enduring and pure- Hush, Kenma, I like my job at the JVA very much, thank you, and I do not want a transfer to a chemistry lab! As I was saying…”_

Rare. Enduring. Pure. It’s hard to someone like Koushi – one that knows how to have fun within limits, one that finds the very good and the very bad in everything and accepts it all, one that’s strong and loving and kind, one that can turn even the nastiest of betrayals into something beautiful. Daichi’s seen it all in action, and he knows that platinum is the only earthly parallel Koushi has.

“It’s beautiful,” Koushi finally responds. “I love it. I love you.”

It isn’t a lot to say. It isn’t too hard to say it, either. Maybe it was the way his voice quivered and shook with the emotion it tried to portray. Maybe it was the way it was thick with tears of happiness that was crystalline. Maybe it was the way his eyes were watery, maybe it was the way his skin was glowing and flushed in the morning sun, maybe it was the way his eyes shone like streetlights – guiding, comforting, ready to lead him home. Whatever it was, those three chunky, choppy sentences were possibly the most gorgeous thing Daichi’s ever heard.

Daichi stands up, and walks to the window, and Koushi steps closer as well. Right in the center, where the pane should’ve been, they slip the rings on top of each other’s wedding bands, interlace their fingers, lean towards each other, and in the very middle, they kiss.

Finally, the towering waves crash onto the shore with a deafening noise, so powerful it shocks any innocent bystander into admiration. The tiny space that all those overwhelming emotions are crammed into suddenly explodes, and like the Big Bang, it sends shockwaves throughout their bodies.

Koushi’s hands drop Daichi’s and instead move to press against his cheeks, fingers threaded in his soft hair, and he pulls him closer, impossibly so, and Daichi nearly trips over himself as he stumbles inside, arms wrapping around Koushi’s waist and squeezing as he hoists his husband into the air and holds him there. Koushi wraps his legs around Daichi’s hips, and they pull away, looking at each other breathlessly.

“We’re all good now,” Koushi whispers, full of promise. “It’s all good now.”

**Author's Note:**

> to best girl pri,
> 
> I FUCKING LOVE YOU.  
> for real, you're one of my fave cousinis (it's a tie between you and your sister ok don't make me choose i'll start crying) and i love you!!! you're more like my sister at this point, and you're funny and relatable and a wholeass icon. also you're really pretty ok what the fuck T3T anyways i really look up to you and admire you and you've helped me through so much shit and you put up with me and my weirdness every single day and i'm so grateful for that <3 you've taught me so much and helped me become a better person and !!!! mwah i'm so glad you've made it to the end of this fic and i really hope you liked it bae  
> happy birthday! i hope this year treats you well and you have a fuckin blast <333 mwah you're the best :D
> 
> love from  
> your wild child cousin  
> vhasu/carrot ^^


End file.
